


Sun Cream

by type_40_consulting_detective



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Summer Vacation, Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/type_40_consulting_detective/pseuds/type_40_consulting_detective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock loved the feel of the sun, but his creamy english skin wasn't as fond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun Cream

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sherlock Rare Ship Bingo, unbetaed and snuck in at the last minute. Prompt was Summer.

The sun beat down warm on his bare back and it felt fantastic, like it was heating all the cold places inside of him. Like nothing could go wrong as long as the sun kept on him. Absurd, to be sure, but that’s how it felt for the first hour.

He should have recalled his childhood beach trips, but his mind was given over to the case, to catching the murderer here on this very beach. With his target spotted, he followed the man and his pretty young potential victim to a beach house, texting Lestrade along the way. Within the hour, the day was saved and Sherlock was ready to get away from the sand between his toes and on his legs.

A sharp poke to his back made him shriek, and he turned to find Lestrade smiling at him from behind his aviators. 

“Forgot the sun cream, Sherlock. That’s going to hurt once you’re feeling it properly.”

“Nonsense, I’m…” Sherlock looked down at himself and saw the patchy, red flush to his torso. As if not believing it, he poked it himself and had to bit his tongue. How had he not noticed this? Of course, the case. He hadn’t noticed either the fuzziness of his brain, must be dehydration, and the slickness of the sweat all over him. “I don’t have...what fixes this?”

“Come on, I’ll walk you back. I’ve got a kit in the room, we’ll see what we can do.”

Sherlock followed, complaining, aching, and red as a cooked lobster. He was urged into the tub of cool water, made to drink sports drinks until the world stopped spinning, and given a few paracetamol to take the edge off the worse of it. Greg popped the aloe gel in the mini fridge while Sherlock soaked, and may have taken a picture of the damage to send to John, claiming it was ‘consulting a Doctor’.

A bit subdued, Sherlock spared no modesty in coming to the bed, flopping his wet and naked self onto the coverlet and awaiting further pain. He was met with only sweet relief, the icy gel making everything feel better for a moment or two before the heat started up again.

“You’re lucky it didn’t blister, love. I set out the sun cream for you, right next to the shorts and glasses.”

“Interferes with Vitamin D formation.” Sherlock grumbled, shifting and the whimpering as his stomach, less burnt but still red, rubbed against the bed.

“This sunburn is interfering with a lot of other things. How’m I supposed to have a honeymoon if I can’t hardly touch you?”

“Hadn’t thought...wasn’t supposed to take so long.” 

“I know.” Greg kissed the back of his head and shifted the fan in the room to run over his back and aid in cooling. “I’m headed out for some more supplies, and you’d better sleep. If you’re good, maybe it will heal up fast and we can get back to the purpose of the holiday.”

“Sex holiday.” Sherlock teased, and Greg gave him a whack on his still creamy white arse.

“Sex holiday indeed. Not a crime solving holiday anymore, yeah? Not that I’m complaining about life saving.”

“Only solve crimes on sex holidays if it saves a life, got it.”

“Good to see your smart mouth isn’t too sunburnt to move, after all.”

“Bring more of the orange drink, no more purple, and we can put my smart mouth to use then.” Sherlock tried to turn his head towards the door, but the burn on his neck made him groan. 

“Tomorrow. Sherlock. Orange powerade, and you make it up to me tomorrow. Love you, brat.”

“Love you too.”


End file.
